


When In His Mind Palace

by Vyxyn



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2448068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vyxyn/pseuds/Vyxyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When Sherlock Holmes is in his mind palace, what does John Watson do?</p>
          </blockquote>





	1. Before the Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sherlock Holmes is in his mind palace, what does John Watson do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to my beta's, the lovely Bookbek and BrunetteBookworm. Thank you ladies :)

The first time he saw Sherlock slip into his mind palace, John thought he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. His hands were steepled in front of his pursed lips, a look of concentration adorning his face.

John watched for a while, expecting Sherlock to snap out of it at any moment. He sat down in his chair and waited. After fifteen minutes he gave up, as Sherlock hadn't even so much as blinked. He'd eventually wandered off to tidy up the kitchen, then went upstairs to sort out his laundry. Once he came back down, Sherlock still looked like he was in a trance, so John went out to the laundromat. A couple of hours later he returned, and Sherlock was still in the same position John left him in.John went upstairs to put away his clothes, coming back down he heard the rustle of a paper, and walking through the door he saw Sherlock casually reading the local like nothing had happened.

"So what was that then?"

"What was what?"

"Before. You've been a zombie all afternoon."

"Oh right. I was in my mind palace."

Sherlock said it casually, like John should know exactly what he was talking about.

"Your what? Your mind palace? What's that?"

"Really John, you should pay more attention."

John frowned, still confused, and starting to feel irritated.

"Sherlock I can’t read your mind. If you haven't explained what this mind palace is, then I'm hardly likely to know it, am I?"

Sherlock sighed heavily, as if John was being particularly difficult.

"Very well John. My mind palace is where I store my information. Only the important things, things that I'll be able to use to help me in the future."

"So what do you have stored in there then?" John asked curiously, smiling a little.

"I'll have you know John, that my mind palace is an important tool in the solving of crimes. I remember things from past cases that may help me in the future. It’s all about the details. Splatter patterns, types of fibres and how they react to flame, 243 types of tobacco ash, it's not some information dump, it's all clearly set out for future use."

John frowned again. Was he serious?

"What information isn't stored in there?"

"The unimportant things."

"Thanks Sherlock. That really narrows it down. I'm asking for specifics here."

Sherlock hesitates. Would telling John what's not in his mind palace be admitting there are things he doesn't know?

He clears his throat. "Well I have no use for the solar system. Knowing the position of the planets is completely irrelevant."

"So you don't know about the universe?"

"It's not that I don't know John, it's just that I find the information is not important."

John wasn't convinced, but he decided to leave well enough alone, which was timely as the door bell chimed, and Mrs Hudson led a new client up the stairs shortly thereafter.

From then on, every time Sherlock goes to his mind palace, John observes. He watches as Sherlock goes from a conversation, to fully immersing himself in his mind palace. For a few days John watches, then goes off and does whatever he needs to do without Sherlock’s interference. After a while though, curiosity gets the better of John. He scoots in closer to Sherlock. Sherlock doesn’t flinch. John waves his hands in front of Sherlock. Nothing. 

“Sherlock” he whispers.

He clears his throat. A little louder, “Sherlock.” Again, nothing. If John was a different kind of man, he would have tied Sherlock’s laces together, drawn on his face, or filled his palm with shaving cream. 

Instead John studies Sherlock. Over the coming months, every time Sherlock visits the mind palace, John watches. He leans in and sweeps his eyes over Sherlock’s face. He notices his lips, a perfect cupid’s bow pressed against the tips of his fingers. His fingers themselves are long and elegant, stretching out from palms that look soft and inviting. For a man as tall as Sherlock, his nose is quite small, almost perfect really, and suits his face to a tee. His hair is full and curled, the colour is a dark rich brown and it looks incredibly soft. He’s tempted to run his fingers through to see just how soft it is, he even raises his hands to do so, but stops. That may be pushing it a little far.

But it’s Sherlock’s eyes John watches the most. Every time he looks they are a different colour. From green to grey, with flecks of gold, sometimes blue. John never knows what colour they’ll be. He wonders whether the colour change is affected by light, or mood. Sometimes they almost glow, and John wishes he knew what Sherlock was thinking.

John begins to look forward to Sherlock going into his mind palace. He enjoys the sense of calm he gets by just observing. Each time John picks up new features, like the slight scar on Sherlock’s bottom lip, or a slight nick in his skin from shaving. There are times where Sherlock’s brows are furrowed in concentration, eliciting a chuckle from John. 

But that was before.. Sherlock was gone. John had watched, heart in mouth as Sherlock jumped from the top of St Barts. He tried, desperately tried to remember every little bit of Sherlock’s face to drown out the blood, and his own pain. John didn’t want his memory of Sherlock to be marred by the horror of it all.

Sitting alone, John puts his head in his hands. Right now would be the perfect time to be able to study Sherlock’s face, to see the light in his eyes, just one last time. He leans back in his chair, opposite Sherlock’s and shakily takes a breath. Closing his eyes, he pictures Sherlock, tousled hair, bright eyes, smiling a genuine smile that was only for John. The image of Sherlock is accompanied by a dull ache, a feeling always triggered by losing someone you love.

Someone you love. John sat up with a start. Love. He hadn’t seen it. All that time he spent watching Sherlock he thought he was just admiring the brilliance of his roommate, complimenting his extraordinary genius. He hadn’t realised he’d been in love.

But the realisation has come far too late. There is nothing he can do. Sherlock is gone, existing only in his memory. His memory is a poor thing compared to Sherlock’s mind palace, but he would try. He couldn’t keep Sherlock safe before, but he would try his best to keep him safely in his memory.


	2. After the Fall

John sits opposite Sherlock, who is in the depths of his mind palace. Really sitting there, not just in the depths of his memory. He can’t believe that almost three years have passed since the fall, let alone almost a year since Sherlock returned. John’s life has changed dramatically in those three years. Instead of studying Sherlock’s face like he normally would, he lets his mind wander back to not long after Sherlock “died”.

In the days after he realized he was in love with Sherlock, he had moved out of Baker Street. He wasn't able to handle the constant reminders of the detective. The experiments in the kitchen, his violin case, his chair by the fire. Sherlock’s scent. The scent pervaded every room of the flat. An earthiness with hints of sandalwood, mingled with whatever experiment was currently situated on the kitchen bench. The smell used to be a comfort to John. Wherever that smell was, felt like home. Except now that Sherlock was no longer there to bolster the strength of his scent, it began to fade, slowly seeping away to the point where it became a distant memory.

John had found himself work at a clinic. He felt like he needed to busy himself, keep himself distracted so that his mind didn't automatically turn to Sherlock. Nothing is more distracting than other people’s medical problems. In time, he began to like work, finding comfort in the routine of the same hours every day, getting to know the people he worked with. He missed the excitement of a new case with Sherlock less and less.

It was at work that John met Mary. She was confident, intelligent and strong. She was comfortable in John’s company, and wasn't intimidated by him being a doctor, or having been in the military. More importantly, Mary wasn't intimidated by Sherlock. It was clear to Mary that John had a deep affection for Sherlock, and she was completely fine with this. She helped him grieve. Unlike John’s other girlfriends, Mary wasn't jealous of the love John held for Sherlock. Although, that would probably change if she knew just how much John loved him.

John had decided that it was time. Time to move on just that little bit more. He had arranged a dinner, and a proposal. But instead it was a flurry of confusion and anger, a bloody nose and Sherlock Holmes. Not dead, apparently.

Back at the flat he shared with Mary, John was stunned. He instinctively wanted to flee to Sherlock, but his pride kept him rooted where he was. How could he? How could Sherlock do that? How could he let two whole years pass without so much as a breath? One word is all it would have taken to put John at ease.

John would have waited for Sherlock. He would have waited until Sherlock had come back, and he would have told Sherlock how he felt. John was angry that Sherlock didn't trust him enough with that secret. Others knew! What infuriated John even more was that Sherlock couldn't understand why John was so upset. Sherlock tried to extend the olive branch, but John cut it off, still trying to deal with that sense of betrayal, and abandonment, plus the frustration of him being back without a decent explanation.

Things finally began to calm down. John and Mary finally got engaged, and began planning a wedding. Sherlock even helped. You could see signs of Sherlock not coping though, with his manic napkin art littering the coffee table at Baker Street. Sherlock and John had started to go on cases again, with John having somewhat forgiven Sherlock for his absence. John had even asked Sherlock to be his best man at the wedding, something quite shocking to Sherlock it seems, as he didn't expect to be John's best man, let alone his best friend.

After the wedding, things began to fall apart. Mary was pregnant. Mary was also former intelligence of some kind, with a bloodied history that she would stop at nothing to keep from John. Sherlock of course found out, which meant that John found out. How would you react if you were to find out that your wife, who was carrying your child, wasn't the person you thought they were? Mary showed her hand though, by putting a bullet in Sherlock. She needed to keep her secret safe, so eliminating Sherlock would ensure that safety. No one would suspect Mary would they! For a long awful moment, John thought he had lost Sherlock. Again. But somehow Sherlock had survived.

John’s eyes dropped from Sherlock, and he picked up his newspaper. He had dwelled on the past too long, and now his heart hurt with the memory of Sherlock’s pale face, lying still in a hospital bed.

Sherlock came out of his mind palace and looked at John. He couldn't believe that they were back together at Baker Street. He hated being apart from John, and he hated even more that he couldn't contact him. Then he had returned, and everything was different. Although this time Sherlock almost actually died. But he had to survive. John was in danger, and Sherlock had to protect him.

And protect him he did. Sherlock showed John what Mary was really like, but for some reason that Sherlock could not comprehend, John forgave Mary. Or it appeared that way. At Christmas time, while Mary was heavily pregnant, John told Mary that “the problems of your past are your business, the problems of your future are my privilege.” Sherlock could understand if it was just the issue of her past, things that happened before they met, is hardly John’s issue. But where was John’s anger at Mary shooting Sherlock?

Soon, a baby girl was born. Baby Watson looked nothing like John. Sherlock was immediately suspicious. John and Mary laughed it off. “Children don’t always look like their father, Sherlock.”

Except in this case, Baby Watson DID look like her father. Because her father was David, Mary’s ex-boyfriend. Sherlock couldn't think of a way to bring this up in conversation. “John, I don’t believe the child you are raising is yours”. Somehow Sherlock doesn't think this will work. And of course, it wouldn't. But after a health scare, it was soon found out that Baby Watson was not in fact Baby Watson, as the child had contracted a hereditary disease that neither appeared on Mary or John’s side of the family. Enter David.

Needless to say, John was devastated. He asked to move back to Baker Street. Sherlock of course didn't deny him, even though he was a little miffed that it would take the child not being John’s for him to leave Mary, instead of the attempted murder of his supposed best friend.

For months John moped. Months. Sherlock tried his hardest to be patient. He could see how much John was suffering, but was at a loss of what to do. John was going to work, coming home and sitting in his chair opposite Sherlock’s. Sherlock still didn't know that John would watch Sherlock when he delved into his mind palace. This was the only thing that kept John somewhat sane in the time after separation and subsequent divorce.

Sherlock noticed though that John hadn't started dating again. In the past, when a romantic relationship of John’s had ended, he had moved on quite quickly. But this time, nothing. It was nine months from when John left Mary, until the divorce was finalized. Sherlock thought that maybe John had been that deeply affected, and that hurt that he couldn't bare to start another relationship.

It began driving Sherlock mad. This not knowing what was going on in John’s head. He’d delve into his mind palace, where John has his own special section where Sherlock can recall the most important things about his friend. Nothing was making sense.

Now on this rather lazy Saturday, John was still in his chair reading the paper. Sherlock had finished reminiscing and was staring at John.

“John.”

“Mmmmmm.”

“John.”

“Hmmmmm?”

“John, please put down the paper, I need to speak with you.”

John lowers the paper with a quizzical brow.

Sherlock clears his throat. His shifts in his chair. He uncrosses, then re-crosses his legs. 

“John. Your divorce has been final now for a month, and yet you have not begun dating. I am a little … concerned.”

John folds the paper and puts it on the side table. He leans forward, placing his elbows on his knees. 

“Why is that then?”

“Why is what then John?”

“Why are you concerned?”

“Ah yes. Well I’m concerned as history has shown that when you've ended a relationship, you've moved onto the next one expediently.”

“Well this was a little different Sherlock.”

“How so?”

John blinks. He shakes his head. 

“Well this was a marriage. And my wife was an assassin who had another man’s baby, which she tried to pass off as mine.”

“Oh please John. You’re being a tad dramatic.”

“Fuck off Sherlock.”

“Unnecessary.”

“Bloody necessary.”

“Fine. But I still think it’s strange you haven’t tried to move on. At all. I mean, Mary already has.”

John flinches. Sherlock had obviously been keeping tabs on his ex. John shouldn't be surprised.

“I know Sherlock. I have been in touch with her you know, to finalize the divorce and such.”

“Right. Of course. I just feel that maybe it’s time for you to go out, and you know, ‘sow your wild oats’ or whatever that ghastly saying is.”

“Maybe I don’t want to do that.”

“Why on earth not? That’s what you've done in the past. What’s so different now?”

John shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He has a choice to make. Does he fob it off? Or does he tell Sherlock the truth?

“Well, Sherlock. There is someone, but things are a little different.”

“No there isn't. You haven’t met anyone new John. I would know.”

“Oh would you now?”

“Yes of course I would John. I know you better than you know yourself.”

John laughs, a deep rumble that begins from the bottom of his tummy. 

“Clearly you don’t Sherlock.”

Sherlock is stunned. “Are you saying my deductions are off? My deductions are never off!”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Sherlock gets up in a huff. “I’m disappointed in you John.”

John begins to laugh even harder. 

“John this isn't funny. I know you haven’t met any new women. Wait. Of course! Unless you have met up with a woman you've know known previously! One of the many women that you traipsed through here. Who is it? John? You are seeing someone you've know for a while! I knew I’d work it out. John, please stop laughing it’s not that funny.”

The laughter is starting to subside, and turn into chuckles. John wipes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. 

“You are partially correct.”

“Only partially? John, now you must really explain yourself as I’m getting beyond frustrated.”

“Well you are correct in that it’s someone I've known previously …”

“I knew it!”

“Sherlock, let me finish.”

“Sorry John.”

“It’s someone I've known for awhile, but it’s not one of my former girlfriends.”

“Huh.”  
With that Sherlock settles back into his chair, to delve back into his mind palace with the added clues provided by John. 

John smiles. He watches for a few minutes. Then he leans forward and places a shaky hand on Sherlock’s knee.

“Sherlock. I don’t think you’ll find the answer in your mind palace.”

John squeezes Sherlock’s knee. Nothing. He pulls his hand back and waits. Sherlock's brows furrow deeper, and then he looks at John. His eyes widen.

“Oh!”

“What?”

“You said it wouldn't be in my mind palace but it was.”

“I see.”

“It’s me isn't it.”

John stops breathing. He hangs his head. This wasn't going how he expected it to go. While he was trying to get the courage up to speak, a hand appears in his view, which then rests casually on John’s knee. And it squeezes. John looks up to find Sherlock on his knees before him, staring up at his face earnestly.

“It all makes sense John. You moving out of Baker Street so quickly. Going to my grave, asking that I not be dead. I heard you by the way. All of it. I had the homeless network keep an eye on you too. You weren't mourning the loss of a friend, John. You were mourning the loss of a great love.”

John smiles. “You really are observant.”

Sherlock places his other hand on John’s free knee. 

"I know I'm not the most in tune with my emotions …”

“Pfffft.”

“But John, it means I don’t really know how to say this.”

John freezes. He wasn't expecting a rejection. He had hoped against all hope that Sherlock felt the same. He felt the blood drain from his face. Sherlock watched John become dejected, watched as John lost all colour. So he rose up, and did the only thing he could think of.

Sherlock kissed John.

The hands on John’s knees tightened. John instinctively cupped Sherlock’s face in his hands and parted his knees, pulling Sherlock in closer . Sherlock felt John smile against his lips, which triggered a smile in Sherlock. They pressed their lips together again, and kissed more passionately, letting the years of tension, angst and frustration seep through their lips and disappear.

They pulled apart, John resting his forehead on Sherlock’s.

“I do love you John.”

“I know that now Sherlock.”

“Do you love me too?”

“Oh god yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, big thank you to my constant Beta's who have to put up with my attempt at writing. I'm forever in your debt Bookbek and BrunetteBookworm :)


End file.
